Rose and Thorn

“What's in a name? That which we call a rose


By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Though, that which we call a thorn

By any other name would slice as deep.

The shards of hearts left by lovers

Will all in the same fashion heal

The broad back walking out the door

Always one I know so well.

The words cutting to the quick

All lilt along the same tone

Every door slamming singularly

Leaving me deafened and alone.

Thoughts run through my head each time he walks away

And leaves me collapsing into space

Left by another manifestation

Of the same indifferent face.